


Then and Now

by sparkeythehamster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jealous Arthur Ketch, M/M, Mick Davies is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 01:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkeythehamster/pseuds/sparkeythehamster
Summary: "This was a new line of work for them, and Mick couldn’t deny this whole Hunting business was going to take quite a bit of getting used to, shady motels, fast food, long car journeys. The sheer size of America was overwhelming as it was, and Mick was certain it would have taken him less time to drive from Durham to Paris, than it would to cross some of these huge states.But, at least he wasn’t alone.With the collapse of the British Men of Letter’s project in the States, two of their members had been left behind. Well. Left behind made it sound like their abandonment had been a mistake, but Mick understood it for what it was. A clear message that the only reason they weren’t dead yet, was because there was no one left in America on the Men of Letter’s payroll."





	1. Chapter 1

This was a new line of work for them, and Mick couldn’t deny this whole Hunting business was going to take quite a bit of getting used to, shady motels, fast food, long car journeys. The sheer size of America was overwhelming as it was, and Mick was certain it would have taken him less time to drive from Durham to Paris, than it would have done to cross some of these huge states.

But, at least he wasn’t alone.

With the collapse of the British Men of Letter’s project in the States, two of their members had been left behind. Well. Left behind made it sound like their abandonment had been a mistake, but Mick understood it for what it was. A clear message that the only reason they weren’t dead yet, was because there was no one left in America on the Men of Letter’s payroll.

So, he and Arthur were stuck here, knowing that any attempt to leave would be virtual suicide. So what choice did they have but to cosy up with the Hunters? At least for now, Mick had longer term goals, which included taking Sam Winchester up on his offer to help out around the American Men of Letter’s Bunker, but before then he wanted to get some field experience. The truth was that during his time here he’d realised that was the major flaw of the traditional Old Men back in the UK, none of them really knew what it was like to be out there, risking their lives to protect innocents from the things that went bump in the dark.

Of course, he would have been dead three Hunts ago if it wasn’t for the man beside him.

Even back in Britain, Arthur Ketch had probably been the closest thing to a Hunter the British Men of Letters had. He was aggressive, brutal, and didn’t mind getting his hands bloody for ‘The greater good’, although, back then, ‘The greater good’ had been what the Old Men defined it as. Now, without a purpose Arthur seemed to be at a slight loss as to his direction, but he’d stuck to Mick like glue, and seemed keen to continue the Hunter lifestyle he’d grown to enjoy over the past year.

“Mick…”

Shifting slightly in his seat, Mick heard a faint voice in the distance, but his eyes remained closed, still lost in half a dream.

“Mick!”

A hand on his shoulder caused him to jump, grey-blue eyes wide as he met the darker ones of the so called ‘psychopath’ he’d been travelling with this past month – Lady Bevell’s words, not his.

“We’re here, now go sort out the room, you’re so much better at this than I am,” and with that, Arthur swung out of the driver’s seat and around the car to unpack their bags.

Mick had stored most of their things in a spare room in the Bunker, it wasn’t like they could wander around with all their possessions tucked up in the boot of the Land Rover. Most of that space had now been handed over to various weapons that Arthur had lovingly recovered from their temporary Base that had been set up when they were still working for the British Men of Letters.

Leaving Arthur to finish the unloading, Mick pushed his own door open, stretching as he walked in the direction of what he assumed was the Motel check-in point.

Places like this were so uncommon in the UK. Even cheap hotels like The Premier Inn or Travelodge had a front reception, and some feeling of security. That wasn’t to say Motels like this didn’t exist, but they did tend to be an absolute last resort for people who were only planning to stay somewhere a night. How had they sunk so low?

Well, the answer to that was simple. Winchesters. It seemed the rumours were true, crossing paths with the Winchesters did taint you, and the jury was still out on whether that taint was for better or worse.

Arthur Ketch was a perfect example of why this was so. On one hand he seemed to have relaxed, and almost regained some of the fleeting scraps of genuine emotion since ending his business with the Men of Letters, but on the other, he was now a killer on the loose with no real direction to follow but his own. During their first hunt together, Arthur had shot a civilian who had accidentally walked in on them while they’d been disposing of a Werewolf’s body. He’d claimed it was to protect them, but he’d done it with so little thought, that Mick would have called it something more akin to an impulse.

“Twin room if you’d be so kind,” Mick flashed the credit card that Sam had helped him to set up.

Credit card scams, it seemed like that was the way most Hunters got by. Well, it was true that unlike his old job, Hunting didn’t have a reliable salary and pension scheme.

The man behind the desk sniffed at him, sweeping back his grey, oily hair with one hand, as he took the money in the other. Mick couldn’t help but notice the smell radiating from the man, and the yellow crumbling teeth as a key was tossed towards him with the number ’12’ engraved into the small metal plate.

Mick thanked him, as it did seem like the polite thing to do, and returned to Arthur who was hovering just outside, two duffel bags balanced along the right-hand side of his body, one in his hand, and the other under his arm.

“Got the key?” The taller man asked, eyes flicking past Mick through the glass doors at the man who had just served him with a small frown, lip curling in disgust.

“Got the key” Mick nodded, walking past Arthur in the hope he’d follow and not do anything to get them thrown out like he’d done back in Ohio. There was a reason why Mick now dealt with the staff at the Motels.

It didn’t take the two of them long to find ‘Room 12’, a shabby door, covered in white peeling paint, home for the next week or so.

Unlocking the door, Mick led the way inside, his own lip curling in distaste at the sight of the bright orange walls and beige carpet. It was a simple room mostly, two beds stacked side-by-side, with a bedside table between them, an adjoining shower room, small kitchenette, and the forever present television set.

As if his phone had been waiting for this moment, the devise in his pocket began to buzz loudly, he must have put it on silence at some point during the car journey last night, odd, he didn’t remember having done so.

Pressing the answer key as he spotted Sam’s name, Mick held the phone to his ear.

“Yes,” he nodded, “We’re there now, just arrived… right… yeah… Okay I’ll keep you updated…” It was a short conversation, mostly Sam just checking up.

Turning back to Arthur who had just dropped their stuff rather heavily onto the beds, Mick noticed there was a peculiar look in the other man’s eyes, a look Mick had never learned to read with any precision, mostly because the warning it brought was far more important. He had however, managed to decipher that this was a look Arthur only wore when he was experiencing some form of anger.

“So, we’ve gone from being the errand boys of the Men of Letters to The Winchesters’ bitch?” His voice was sharp and frustrated, as the tall man pulled open his own duffle, pulling back with a gun in his hands that he began examining. “Hardly a step up in the world, if anything I’d call it a step down.”

Mick sighed. While Arthur seemed to be fairly fond of Dean and Mary, there was an odd distaste he held for Sam. Whether that was because the younger Winchester brother seemed to remind him of their old Men of Letter comrades, or because the chap had simply looked at him the wrong way a few months ago, it was largely a mystery to Mick, and he was happy to leave it that way.

“We don’t have a choice right now, besides it’s good to have support if we come across something I’m not familiar with. The Winchesters are one of the things standing between us and almost certain death right now as well, and they are Legacies, making them about the closest things to allies we have in America.”

“Well I’ll have to remember to curtsy the next time I see them” Arthur smirked, sarcasm dripping from his voice, as he finished the examination of the gun and tossed it lazily back onto his bed.

They’d come to a small town in Missouri following an article describing the mysterious death of a High School Teacher discovered in a locked Classroom with satanic symbols covering his body. The work of Witches or Demons seemed the most likely guess, and so, they’d come prepared for both. If anyone was to attempt to break into the boot of their car that night they would get a rather nasty shock as they laid eyes on enough weapons to supply a small army.

“Well shower, then off to work” Mick suggested, “You can go first if you’d like, I’ll get the suits from the car.”

There was a certain disadvantage to being British in the States, with the primary issue being the lack of covers they could use. The old Hunter favourite of ‘The FBI Agent’ simply didn’t fly when your best American accent sounded like a poor imitation of John Wayne.

And so, after much deliberation, and trial and error, they had settled under the alias of Interpol agents, Sam had been able to whip up an almost perfect identity card for each of them in about a day, and they’d been on their way.

So, washed, shaved and dressed, the two of them climbed back into the car in search of the Morgue, always a good place to start in cases like this. Hopefully it would help to tell them which evil type of bastard it was running amuck in this corner of the world.

“What would interest Interpol in a case like this?” A small a twitchy examiner asked them, as Arthur pulled back the sheet that covered the dead man, “It was weird I grant you, but wouldn’t this be a job for the FBI?”

“Similar case in France three months ago” Mick told him swiftly, nudging Arthur aside as he carefully examined the markings that had been cut into the man’s body, scanning the shapes and symbols with his eyes, as he searched for a pattern or meaning to them that he recognised from his long years of study.

“This one,” he looked up as Arthur raised the dead man’s hand, pointing to one of the symbols cut into the back of his hand, “Correct me if I’m wrong but this is Sanskrit is it not?”

Of course, Arthur knew that was Sanskrit, he wasn’t an idiot, but Mick knew what it was he was saying. The patterns didn’t make sense. You had demonic symbols covering most of his face, and body, but they didn’t follow any sort of ritualistic pattern that Mick knew of, and then there were odd characters from other alphabets or mythologies just scattered about amongst the rest. A witch would never have made this mistake, and neither would a demon.

Was it really a human behind this? But then how had the murder been committed. The new article had said that the door was locked, and that the windows had been sealed shut, the only key to that classroom, with the exception of the one the janitor owned had been found on the dead Teacher’s body. The janitor of course had been questioned, but, as luck would have it, he’d been at his niece’s christening that night, and had a whole room full of alibies, he also confirmed that the key to the classroom had not been stolen as he kept the school’s keys in a safe at home, and all were still in place.

“We’ll have to go to the school then.” If there were no clues on the body, then the only clues they had would be at the school. Perhaps whatever had killed the Teacher had left something behind?

Mick would prefer to avoid questioning anyone, but if that was what it came down to, then that was what they had to do. This was all so different to working for the Men of Letters, a lot more leg work. Plus, he glanced at Arthur who was staring at him with a look of unhappy shock, taking Mr. Ketch into a school just didn’t seem like a smart move.

They thanked the jumpy examiner for his help and made their way back to the car.

“I’ll go to the School” Mick assured the other man, “You see if there’s anything you can dig up on this teacher, if he was involved in any witchy-like clubs or activities,” Mick scribbled out an address onto a piece of paper, “Drop me off at the school and head here.”

Arthur examined the address, he didn’t look particularly happy about the idea of research either, but it seemed the most favourable of the options to both of them.

“If you need any help Sam said he’d be at the other end of the line.” As Mick knew this was a lot of pressure to put on the mostly killing driven man, he thought this might help to relieve a little of it. However, the moment the words were out of his mouth, he realised that he’d said the wrong thing.

Arthur’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and his face had that dangerous glint to it again. Did he really resent asking for help that much?

“Or don’t” he shrugged, rolling his eyes, he just needed Arthur to stay focused right now. He could scowl all he wanted after the mission was done, but for now they needed to figure out the truth behind this killing. If it was a human killing then they’d leave it to the police, if not, then it was their job to deal with it.

Skidding into the driveway of the School, Ketch came to a stop, eyes still fixed through the front mirror. He was still angry, and Mick got the impression that a good amount of this anger was directed at him. The old Mick Davies would have simply gotten out of the car, knowing that Arthur would cool off eventually, but until then it probably wasn’t a good idea to provoke him. But, Mick felt a rage of his own beginning to stir, he’d been putting up with this irritable behaviour on-and-off since they’d started Hunting, but in the last two weeks it had all gotten so much worse.

“I know you don’t like asking for help, but you don’t have to bloody glare like that every time someone offers it,” he swivelled his gaze from the view of the school just ahead of them, back to Arthur, who was now looking at him with an unreadable firmness. It wasn’t that the anger had disappeared, but there was a sort of caution to his gaze now as well, eyes boring into Mick’s own as if Arthur was… searching for something.

Confused, Mick held the gaze.

Arthur had always been a fairly intense man, that was the first impression Mick had gotten of him when they’d been assigned to the same class, and while it made him utterly terrifying on occasion, there was also something awe inspiring about it as well. One of the reasons Mick had always stood at odds with Lady Bevell’s assumptions about Arthur, was due to this. Toni had seen the worst of Ketch, the killer, the seducer, but she’d never truly seen this part of him. The honest, open, raw emotion that Arthur could convey in a single look.

It wasn’t something the other man did often, he knew it made him vulnerable, and so Mick had always taken it as a great sign of trust that he was one of the few who was allowed to witness this side of the infamous Mr. Ketch.

Arthur was the one who broke the eye contact, teeth clicking, as a dishonest but charming smile spread back across his face.

“Well, don’t let the brats walk all over you,” his tone was humorous but dismissive, and this time Mick decided to take the invitation to leave. Sliding open the door as he got out of the car. “I’ll pick you up from school at three-thirty, don’t keep me waiting.”

It was quite a contrast to see Arthur snap between cold blooded fury and the mask of charming and witty humour he liked to wear. Mick knew that this didn’t necessarily mean he was forgiven, but it at least meant that Arthur had made a decision to shelve whatever it was bothering him and focus on their mission for now.

It was only when Arthur had backed out of the drive that Mick realised his heart was beating faster than normal. Placing a curious hand over it, he considered the rhythm, which was now beginning to slow to its usual pace. When had that happened?

Deciding to take a leaf from Mr. Ketch’s book, Mick dismissed it from his mind for now, double checking he still had his fake badge on him, before heading up the last part of the driveway through the main gates of the school.

The normal thing that Interpol would have done, would be to phone the school ahead of time to arrange a meeting, but there hadn’t been time for that. Mick had a rough idea of how to get around that little problem though.

Arriving at the main reception desk of the school, Mick flashed his card at the woman behind it with a polite but professional smile. “Hello, my name is Inspector Doyle, with Interpol, I’m here to speak with the headmaster.”

The receptionist startled a little, typing a few keys into her computer before looking back at him. “I’m sorry… we don’t seem to have an appointment for you…”

Pretending to appear surprised, Mick leaned over the counter as if to check. “My office should have phoned ahead; the call would have come in about two days ago? It’s concerning Mr Frank Wheler?”

The receptionist gasped sadly, “Of course, he was such a nice man you know. Absolutely terrible what happened to him, I didn’t expect Interpol to take an interest though?”

Mick smiled sweetly at her, as if to say that information was classified, and she nodded her head as if she understood.

“Now it was my day off two days ago, so it’s possible that someone else messed up. Mr. Lakes has an opening in about fifteen minutes though, I’ll phone through and let him know you’re here.”

Mick thanked her and went to take up one of the plastic seats she offered, set across from reception. Well that hadn’t been too difficult, it was amazing how far a little charm and confidence could get you.

He wasn’t kept waiting too long either, which was probably a small blessing as every teenage girl who had walked past him had been giving him very long looks and small giggles. Of course, it was entirely innocent, but it did make Mick feel a little uncomfortable, so he was glade when a tall balding man in his fifties approached him with an extended hand and the introduction that he was Francis Lakes, the headmaster of the school.

The headmaster was quite open about the incident, and perfectly willing to show Mick to the classroom.

“It’s been sealed off of course, at least until the police and Interpol had finished with their investigation.”

There hadn’t been any relevant evidence at the police station, so if there was anything that suggested the supernatural was involved, it would still be here.

“Would you be able to give me a few minutes” he asked the headmaster politely, “You understand of course?” What he was asking the headmaster to understand, Mick didn’t know, but the man seemed to fill in the blank with whichever reason made sense to him, and he nodded,

“Of course, of course, I’ll send Judy to find you in twenty minutes,” and with that he backed out of the room. It seemed to Mick that he was almost keen to leave, but that was not unsurprising considering the fact a body had been found here only a few days before, a body that the headmaster had most likely known.

Pulling a few things out of his pocket he’d packed in the car, Mick found a desk away from the door, and, using a mug from the front desk began to mix the ingredients he’d brought with him. While he could have gotten down on all fours in hunt of hex bags, this was a lot faster, and a lot more accurate. Muttering the words of the incantation as he pounded the selected items together, Mick threw in the final ingredient and waited. If there was a hex bag in the room then it should be humming softly now, but, the room remained silent.

Not a witch then. No hex bag had been recovered by the police, and as he and Arthur had already established this didn’t look like the word of a witch.

Moving over to the window, Mick undid the small sliding handle and pushed. The windows opened barely a fraction, most likely a safety precaution by the school. It would have been impossible for anyone to get in or out of this room even if the windows had been unlocked. There was enough space for him to toss the contents of the mug out of the window though. It still stank a little of frog heart, but hopefully someone would clean the mug before it was next used.

Moving over to where the body had been found, Mick took a quick sniff as a check for Sulphur. Nothing. If it had been unlikely before that they were dealing with a Witch or Demon, Mick now felt confident sliding that theory fully under the rug.

The Teacher had been found slumped against the wall behind his desk, so perhaps there was something to be found there. Turning, Mick traced his hand along the cheap laminate wood, pausing as he felt a small dent. It looked like claw marks, or even fingernail marks dug deep into the surface. He brushed his own fingers along it, a small hand, not a child’s, but a woman’s perhaps.

Werewolf? No, it didn’t tie in with the full moon. It was very unlikely to be a Kitsune, they were incredibly rare in these parts, and anyway, the heart had still been fully in-tact.

Flicking on the desk lamp for a closer look, Mick angled the light so that it was focused on the mark. No blood, or bits of skin, however, reaching for a pen Mick ran it carefully along the deeper part of the mark, withdrawing a very slight but prominent slimy substance. Ectoplasm.

As if to confirm this statement the light beside him flickered. A ghost, they were dealing with a ghost. But which ghost?

Pulling out his phone, Mick tapped Arthur’s contact, and waited for the other man to answer.

There was a short pause and then the official sounding, and slightly drawling voice came through on the other end. “Mick. I do hope you’re behaving yourself amongst all those school girls and boys.”

“Don’t be so bloody disgusting” Mick sighed, “Ghost, we’re dealing with a ghost. What have you found on your…” Trailing off, Mick found his attention drawn to the window where a gaggle of about six girls ranging between fourteen and sixteen were eyeing him through the door. They scattered immediately as soon as he spotted them, giggling and squealing at one another.

“Mick!?” When he brought the phone back to his ear it was to a very pressing and slightly panicked sounding voice.

“It’s okay, I’m fine, just… I hate teenage girls.”

It almost sounded like a sigh of relief on the other end of the phone, but it was quickly covered up as Arthur continued to speak. “Well nothing that remarkable to say about the Teacher. Worked at that school as an English literature teacher for seven years, graduated from the State College, nothing particularly remarkable.”

“Right, so we can assume the Teacher either had a connection with the ghost or was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Massaging his temples, Mick took up one of the seats in the classroom near the back of the room. “I’ll ask the headmaster about any other deaths in the school, you see if you can find anything, and I’ll…” Trailing off again, Mick noticed something scratched into the corner of the desk he was sitting at. It might have been nothing, just one of those things angsty teenagers did, but in the corner of the desk where he was sitting was a small pentagram.

“Trail off like that once more and I’ll leave you to be assaulted by teenage girls until tomorrow morning,” Arthur’s warning came through the phone hard and firm. The words may have been trivial, but he did sound like he meant it about not trailing off on the phone.

How Mary had managed to travel with Arthur for so long, Mick didn’t know. The man was a controlling child at least fifty-percent of the time.

“Sorry, there’s a pentagram scratched into this desk I’m sitting at, I just wondered if it was relevant,” he got up again, moving back to the Teacher’s desk, pulling open the draws and scanning through the various documents until he found what he was looking for. A name had been written over a little square icon that indicated the desk, but beneath it were the rubbed out remains of another name.

“So, there’s this report I found of a fifteen-year-old girl, Mary Ruth, was hit by a car on her way to school nine months ago.” Mick’s phone buzzed as Arthur forwarded him the article. Examining it Mick flicked through the text quickly, and focused in on the photo that accompanied the story, a rather cheerful looking young girl standing alongside her parents and younger brother.

“She looks about thirteen in this photo, why no more recent ones?”

“Does this mean a trip to see the parents?” Arthur groaned, and Mick could practically feel him itching. If they didn’t find something to kill or salt and burn soon, the other man was going to end up on some sort of killing spree, most likely starting with the disgusting looking Motel owner.

“It’s okay I’ll go” Mick told him, “But tomorrow I think, as…”

The draw he’d had open slammed shut with a violent force strong enough to send the table skidding forward a few inches along the floor.

“Mick, you had better have a bloody good reason for…”

“Yeah, might not be alone in here” Mick threw back quickly, taking a small step away from the desk, as he began to make his way swiftly to the door, Thankfully the hallway was now empty, classes must have started again, but as he pulled at the handle the door stayed fixed in place.

“The door’s sealed” he confessed across the line, eyes swivelling around for the sign of anything that might pose a danger. The lamp on the desk had already started flickering again. “I think it’s safe to say that the ghost is still here.”

“Iron or salt!” Arthur sounded like he was running, and Mick faintly heard the sound of a car engine starting.

Right of course. Mick made a lunge towards the nearest chair, if these were anything like the chairs commonly used in state school back in Britain then they’d have legs made of iron.

Fixing his hand around the plastic, Mick felt a force strike him in the chest, sending both him and the chair crashing against the far wall. In a moment someone was going to hear this and come running, Mick couldn’t let that happen.

“Mary, your name is Mary, right?” The force against his chest seemed to intensify, but Mick kept a firm hold on the chair in his hand. Okay, so how did you negotiate with a ghost? Mick knew spells to combat them, charms to ward against them, every weakness they possessed, but no idea how to actually talk one down from crushing all his internal organs. “Look I just want to understand? Why did you cover your teacher in those markings?”

He had hit the right question, as the force on him relaxed, and before his eyes a shape began to flicker into existence. The physical form was weak, but Mick could just about recognise the girl as the same one from the photo, with a few notable differences. The first being that her blonde hair had been dyed black, her face wasn’t smiling or cheerful, but instead pulled back into a scowl beneath the heavy set black make-up she wore. Fantastic. If there was one thing Mick disliked more than giggling teenage girls it was the angsty ones, and this girl was currently stuck in that permanent state, surely hell would be a better alternative.

“They are the marking of my coming” the girl told him in a dramatic voice, “The teacher was only the first sacrifice, but I shall arise once more when the trinity has been completed.”

Okay, mad angsty ghost girl, the best kind.

“Your coming?” All he had to do was keep her talking though, with every word she seemed to release her grip on him slightly.

“My mortal name was Mary Ruth, but my true name is Eris, the goddess of chaos and destruction, and I have come to put an end to this world. You see, I only realised my true calling after my death,” she motioned her hands over her opaque body, “As you can see I am immortal.”

In the back of Mick’s mind, it did not seem like a good idea to correct her. But still. She didn’t really believe she was one of the Greek Goddesses, did she?

Mick felt the force finally release him as the ghost continued to talk. “My parents they never understood, they never understood that I had a calling as a witch during my mortal years, the other kids at school didn’t either. They just laughed at me! Well I’ll be the one laughing in the end.”

As if by sheer luck the school bell suddenly rang out. This offered the distraction Mick needed as the girl turned to look. He swung the chair with full force across her transparent form, and it made contact as if she were a solid force, tearing her form in two.

The ghost of Mary Ruth screamed, then vanished. It would take her a while to recover from that.

Quickly adjusting the damage done to the classroom, Mick was in the middle of straightening himself out when the first waves of students passed by the door. However, just as he’d finished readjusting his tie, he noticed the kids had paused, moving out of the way in confusion and shock as Arthur suddenly burst through the door, iron crowbar in his hand, and eyes set to kill.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mick hissed, as Arthur began pacing around the room, moving to close the door again, in the hope that the interested teenagers would move on.

The other man paused in his pacing, and threw his arms up. “You sounded like you were in trouble and I came to help.”

“Wielding a crowbar in a school!?”

The teaching staff were going to arrive soon, and Mick saw it as a small blessing if the school simply agreed not to call the police, although it seemed likely they’d already done so, and that was not something Mick wanted them mixed up in.

“Come on!” Snatching the crowbar from Arthur, he placed it down on one of the desks and seized the other man’s arm, pulling him towards the door. They had to get out of here, or at least get Arthur out of here.

Thinking quickly as Mick caught sight of the headmaster heading down the corridor, he pulled Arthur’s arm quickly so that he was holding it behind his back.

“Bloody… Steady on!” Arthur growled, as it took him a moment to clock Mick’s plan as the headmaster approached.

“Oh, thank god, you caught him” Mr. Lakes sighed, relief seeming to wash over him, “I heard a suspicious man had entered the school with a crowbar, is anyone hurt?”

“No” Mick assured him, with an official nod, “The weapon is in the classroom, you should give it to the police when they arrive to scan for fingerprints.” This would be no problem at all considering Arthur, like himself and every other member of the British Men of Letters had surgically had their fingerprints removed upon graduating Kendricks.

“Yes, I’ll do just that, thank you Inspector Doyle. We can restrain him in the utility room until the police arrive.”

Mick shook his head quickly, “It’s quite all right, I have the proper equipment in my car, just tell the police to come and find him there.”

He was beginning to panic a little, if they didn’t get out of here soon then the police will have already arrived.

Not waiting for an answer from Mr. Lakes, Mick frogmarched Arthur down the hall and towards the exit as fast as they could manage without looking to be in a nervous hurry. They kept this up until they were outside the school gate and away from the windows of the building. Arthur had at least had the sense to park the car somewhere out of sight.

“Hurry up” Mick urged as Arthur climbed into the driver’s seat beside him. But it wasn’t until they were on the open road that he really exploded. “What were you thinking!? You might have compromised the whole mission with that crazy stunt! Do you not have a degree of professionalism left in you!?”

Arthur gritted his teeth, eyes fixed on the road, “The best story you could come up with was that I was a criminal you’d apprehended? You could have said that it was some sort of misunderstanding, now when the police do arrive they’re going to know that you’re not a real Interpol Agent, and as you were telling me down the phone, several people in that school have been studying your face very carefully over the last hour!”

Mick was almost stunned into silence simply by how angry Arthur sounded. Not that Arthur hadn’t been angry before, but he’d never snapped at anyone like this. The slimmer man watched as his partner ran a hand over his face, still gripping the wheel tightly with the other.

Taking a breath, Mick realised he had to calm the atmosphere, and that meant swallowing his pride and admitting that perhaps he hadn’t handled this situation as well as he could have done. He had been panicking at the time though. First, he’d almost been killed by a ghost, and then Arthur had come running into the room armed with a crowbar.

“Okay, perhaps I didn’t handle that situation particularly well either, but we do at least know what we’re dealing with now, and where we can start looking tomorrow. That ghost was certainly Mary Ruth, although she looked quite different from her photo, we should hopefully be able to gather some more information from her parents, find out where she’s buried, salt and burn the bones then go back to the School to make sure we’re done.”

“After dark I assume?” Arthur’s voice sounded a little strained, but he was making an effort to return back to calm and composed.

There was nothing much they could do for now but return to the Motel and hope the police wouldn’t be breaking the door down in the middle of the night. But Mick knew enough people, including those in the police had seen their faces, they needed help.

“We need to phone the Winchesters, they have connections and can sort this out for us.”

He saw Arthur grit his teeth, but the man didn’t protest, a sign Mick could only take as his blessings, as he dialled Sam’s number.

It didn’t take too long for the veteran Hunter to pick up, and Mick quickly explained the situation to him. Sam, thankfully, didn’t seem too fussed, and assured him that he’d make a few calls and smooth things over. After thanking him a great many times over, Mick finally hung up, resting his head in his hands with exhaustion, the muscles in his body finally beginning to ache from their ordeal with the ghost.

“They always made this look so easy” he sighed, “We’re supposed to be the professionals, how do we keep screwing up so badly?”

“Drink.”

Mick looked up, confused, “What?”

“We’re going out for a drink tonight, just get pissed and forget about all this for a bit.”

It was a bizarre suggestion, particularly as Mick knew that neither of them were notably fond of the cheap spirits or the loud, bright atmosphere of the American bars. But right now, Mick knew he needed a drink, and there wasn’t anything better on offer.

And that was how, they both ended up in ‘The Lucky Cowgirl’, the bar just across the street from the motel they were staying in.

Being slightly less familiar with the overexaggerated amount of heavy spirits, and fifteen kilograms lighter than Arthur, it did not take Mick a particularly long amount of time before he felt his body starting to relax under the influence.

“No, no, do you remember that one when you were like pinned down under that Vamp, and Toni just walked in and fired?” Mick found himself laughing at the mere memory of the story he was recoiling, and was growing to quite appreciate Arthur’s own open look of amusement.

“The bullet missed my ear by inches, and that Vampire just turned around to taunt her about how she’d missed, and I took his head off,” Arthur took another shot of his own drink, “Then afterwards she pulled me up and assured me that she had still missed her intended target.”

The two Brits chuckled at the memory. However much they often criticized Lady Bevell, the truth was that she had always been someone they’d relied on back in the London Chapter House. Prone to excitement, and not particularly fond of Arthur, that was true, but she’d always been a good sort.

Stretching out his shoulder as one of his earlier injuries reminded him he shouldn’t be moving so much, Mick shifted on his seat to reach for another beer. He’d noticed that Arthur had started bringing him beers rather than shots a drink or so ago.

“Ghost did a number on you?” Arthur moved his hand in favour of his own beer over the shots, “Should probably get you patched up or something right? That’s the caring thing to do.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mick waved a hand at him, unsure of how much he meant it, but certain that Arthur didn’t really want to do it anyway, “No cuts, just bruises.” His eyes found Arthur’s own, and Mick felt his head tilt as he contemplated the look Arthur was giving him. It wasn’t a new look, he’d seen it a few other times pointed in his direction, but he’d never looked at it properly before. Arthur’s eyes were studying him intensely, his jaw tense, as if he were considering something with immense concentration.

Mick wasn’t sure why, but he felt his heart rate beginning to increase again. Confused by the whole sensation, and the look Arthur was giving him, Mick got to his feet unsteadily, “I’ll go and get more drinks.”

He was still sober enough to walk, albeit with a little concentration to keep himself moving in a straight line. Reaching the counter, Mick was pretty sure he could still feel Arthur’s eyes burning into his back, but he decided to ignore them for now, just so he could clear his head enough to think.

It looked like Arthur wanted something? But what? He didn’t look angry, so Mick could at least rest assured that Arthur didn’t want to kill him. It almost felt like there was a part of his mind trying to yell out the answer, but it was covered by a whole muffle of other voices hushing it insistently.

Then he considered something else as he placed his order for two more beers. How was he looking at Arthur?

Glancing back over his shoulder, he met the other man’s gaze once more, it was unchanged.

Mick felt a weird sensation swelling in his head as his pupils dilated, his mouth, he wasn’t sure why he was feeling such a need coming from it, but his teeth instinctively seemed to bite down on his lower lip as if trying to restrain it. Turning back to the counter again, Mick tried to straighten things out in his head. He wasn’t a complete idiot, perhaps… maybe he was attracted to Arthur ever so slightly, and he knew he wasn’t alone in that. The other man was strong, handsome, and featured an edge of dangerous that always seemed to come across as compelling to foolish romantics like him.

But there was more to consider than his own physical plight, for starters he didn’t know if Arthur would reciprocate. Perhaps the look he was giving Mick was uncertainty, or even discomfort? If that was the case, then Mick would have to work on tuning his attraction down. And, even if Arthur was okay with satisfying his need, Mick knew that was all it would be to him. Sex to Arthur wasn’t an emotional thing, it was something you did for pleasure and gratification, nothing more.

This train of thought somehow led him back to a conversation he’d had around five years ago with Toni after a successfully completed mission. They’d been on the trail of a Witch Covent in Whitechapel, it had been one of the few missions where Mick’s presence had actually been requested on the field. With a strong knowledge of magic, it had been deemed necessary that he be present to counter any spells that might be thrown at them.

The mission had been complicated slightly when Mick’s guard had been taken out by two of the Witches, he’d found himself pinned down by one while the other held a knife above his head. If Arthur hadn’t arrived when he had, that would probably have been the end of him. Mick still remembered Arthur kneeling beside him, hands checking his body for injuries, as Mick assured him that he was fine.

After that mission while Arthur was reporting back to the Old Men, Toni had found him in the library, and made such a bizarre suggestion that Mick had never forgotten it.  
_“You know Arthur Ketch has been eyeing you up this past year, right?”_

Mick had taken it as her trying to wind him up at the time, but over the years… perhaps he had noticed something in the way Arthur sometimes looked at him. Nothing was ever addressed of course, and if the Old Men had found out… well that didn’t bare thinking about, and it certainly made it a risk not worth taking for something as simple as carnal pleasure.

But they weren’t with the Men of Letters now, he reminded himself.

That was true, but they were still working together, and right now they were really all the other had, and it would be foolish to jeopardise that.

“Your beers.”

Mick looked up, startled, the bar tender was looking rather irritable as he pushed the bottles towards Mick with a firm hand, before heading off to see to another waiting customer.

About to turn and return to Arthur, with the promise that he’d push these thoughts away for now, Mick found himself halted by a light but firm hand on his arm. He hadn’t even noticed the man who had been standing near him this past minute.

“That guy you’ve been drinking with all evening, he looks like trouble” the other man grinned, his mouth close to Mick’s ear, “Why don’t you come and enjoy yourself with me instead?”

About to pull his arm free and turn the man down, Mick found that was no longer necessary when a large and powerful hand, decorated in that trademark cross pressed hard against the stranger’s chest, pushing him away, his other hand had a firm hold of Mick’s upper arm to stop him being pulled with the force he’d just exerted on the other.

“Arthur, I’m fine” Mick insisted heavily, as he nervously eyed the look Arthur was giving the other man, he was standing perfectly straight, the muscles on his chest flexing in warning.

He prayed for the other man to just back down, after all, he was hardly worth the regular risk associated with a man who looked as strong and dangerous as Arthur did.

“All right, well fuck the both of you” the man shrugged, taking another swig of his beer, as he gave Mick a very long a deliberate look, winking once before turning to go.

Arthur took a step forward as if to go after him, but Mick managed this time to stop him, moving around so that he was standing in the taller man’s way.

The bar tender had one hand cautiously on the phone, a sign Mick took to mean it was time to go. Grabbing the bottles of beer, he’d just bought, he urged Arthur towards the door, “Come on.”

They walked back to the motel, Arthur pushing open the door to their room with probably more force than was necessary, and practically snatching the beer from Mick as it was offered.

Mick watched as the taller man slumped down into one of the stuffy armchairs, taking a long swig of the beer in his hand.

Placing his own bottle down on the desk, Mick flicked on the lamp, so they had at least a little light. He approached Arthur cautiously, unsure if he should actually bring up what could possibly have motivated the calm and collected assassin to act with such aggression towards a perfectly normal, and, relatively harmless man, who was making a move on him.

“You know that stuff will make you fat” he ended up saying instead, stopping just short of the armchair, one hand balanced tentatively on the side of the backrest.

He could see that Arthur was tense, and wasn’t sure if him stepping away or stepping forward would make it worse, so instead Mick opted to stay where he was, watching the other man closely. Arthur was very deliberately looking away from him, and the grip on his bottle was growing to such a pressure that it seemed likely he’d smash it in his grip if this went on much longer.

“If I made you feel uncomfortable in the bar, I’m sorry,” Mick wasn’t sure why he’d decided to apologise, right now all he wanted was some sort of reaction, so he could gauge Arthur’s metal state.

Arthur twitched slightly at that, and then he rose to his feet, facing Mick in a way that really emphasised the height difference between them.

“No” he smiled, but Mick knew as well as anyone that Arthur Ketch did not smile. “There’s no need to apologise,” a hand struck out and gripped Mick by the collar of his shirt, tilting him upwards so he had no real choice but to look into the cool eyes of the man who had hold of him.

Strangely enough Mick wasn’t panicking, but that wasn’t to say he felt calm either. He was fairly confident that Arthur wouldn’t kill him, but the man had reverted to the one thing he knew, cold and compassionless. Whatever emotion or emotions had been swirling around inside him, they’d obviously become too much, and his mind had closed in on itself as a defensive mechanism.

Rising onto the balls of his feet to lessen the pressure of the grip, Mick waited, hands grasping at Arthur’s fists instinctively, although he knew it would be impossible to pull free from them.

“Probably shouldn’t have intervened anyway, I’m sure you would have had a fun night being fucked out of your mind by that ugly half-whit.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mick felt a defensive anger in his chest, “If you hadn’t of stepped in I would have told him to find someone else,” he pulled against Arthur’s grip a little more firmly, if only to make a point.

“Right,” Arthur was still smiling, not a good sign, as Mick felt himself being pushed back against the nearest wall, and in the half light he saw the intensive look hiding behind Arthur’s cool mask, his pupils large and round as he drank in the sheer sight of him. Mick knew that his own body was beginning to respond as well, but he couldn’t let it, however much he just wanted to give in.

Arthur’s mouth was so close to his ear that Mick could feel the warm air brushing over his skin with each and every word that was whispered there. “You don’t have to sink so low Mick, any time you need it, you only need to ask,” then Arthur’s mouth was hot and flush against his neck, and Mick felt a moan rake its way through his entire body, heart rate increasing as the blood pumped around his body insistently, urging him to give in.

“Arthur, I… We can’t…” He tried to push back against the stronger man. Arthur had released his collar, and allowed one hand to move up, caressing the side of his face so that it was tilted at the perfect angle that allowed his tongue access to the skin along Mick’s neck, while the other was pressed lightly against his side, thumb extended to caress across his nipple and chest. Hand and fingers large enough to still be able to run along the delicate nerves on his back.

“Stop!” He finally managed to say it, taking all the energy from his arousal to push back, managing to slip away, his body aching with want for the man who had just offered his services on a platter. But this just didn’t feel right, it was as if he was taking advantage of Arthur. Even if this was what the other man wanted, the only reason he was being so open and inviting was out of possessive uncertainty. Not to mention that they were both drunk.

Mick knew that Arthur wanted him to some sort of capacity. They were alone here, and if Arthur had grown worried that Mick would leave him, even for a few moments to spend time with another, then this might have been the only way he knew to make someone stay with him.

He would definitely be taking advantage.

“Arthur we’ve had a lot to drink, and you don’t need to… I’m not going to leave, let’s just finish this case, then we can talk about this.” They wouldn’t, Mick knew that. Tomorrow would be awkward, then they’d just pretend that none of this had happened.

He stared at the other man imploringly, they just needed to calm this all down. But Mick was surprised when he saw the look in Arthur’s eyes; dejected, hurt and angry. He hadn’t meant to… He hadn’t even known he had the power to make the terrifying Mr. Ketch look that way.

Swinging around, Arthur threw open the door to the motel room, “Well you might be content to rock yourself to sleep, but there was a very attractive waitress in that bar giving me the eye, perhaps she’ll oblige me.”

That wasn’t what this was about, and Arthur knew it. If this was simply about sexual gratification he’d never have compromised his relationship with only other Ex-member of the British Men of Letters in the country. But Mick didn’t have the heart or energy to yell that, he was tired, the room was spinning, and his body ached with the pain of the bruises, and the burning desire to let Arthur embrace him like that again.

Arthur stepped through the door and it slammed closed behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Mick wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting the next morning. To find Arthur back in his own bed, or to find it still empty. It turned out to be the latter, as Mick rolled over to see the bed undisturbed, and it didn’t look like Arthur had been back at all during the night.

Checking his watch, the Brit sat up, giving his eyes a quick rub. Eight ’o’clock, about time he was up.

Checking his phone, he found a text from Sam.

_“All Clear. Police and School problem solved.”_

Well at least there was that.

Mick decided he should at least wait another hour for Arthur to get back, so set about raiding the motel fridge for an energy bar of some kind, to wake him up while he searched the police databased for Mary Ruth’s home address.

The ghost they were dealing with was a violent one, and from the way she talked it sounded as if she was planning to kill again.

It wasn’t a pleasant idea, going to speak with a family who had lost their only daughter, but it had to be done. With or without Arthur. Not that he was sure how useful the other man would have been anyway.

It didn’t take him long to dig up the right address from the police files, and with the small hand on his watch now pointing towards nine, Mick rose to his feet, fully dressed, picking up the keys (that Arthur had thankfully left) off the desk, and made his way outside towards the car.

As he pulled himself into the driver’s seat, he did send a quick text to Arthur’s phone letting him know that he’d gone to speak with the parents. It was a normal enough text, hopefully enough to allow Arthur the space to fit into his ‘it never happened’ state. That was probably the easiest thing to do with last night, just pretend that none of it had happened.

Mary’s parents were as Mick had expected them. They looked the same as the two smiling adults in the photo, but now those welcoming smiles seemed more forced.

“We were told that it was an accident?” Her father asked, as Mick explained he was here to do a report on their daughter’s case.

“It most likely was” Mick told them gently, “I’m just hear to check some of the details about how the case was followed. I’m very sorry to be putting you through all this again.”

Mrs Ruth shook her head, “No… it’s quite all right, what do you want to know?”

“I understand that Mary was quite into… goth culture when she passed. Do you know anything about her interests during that time?”

Mrs Ruth sniffed, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and blowing into it before replying, her husband’s hand wrapped tightly around her shoulder. “It was just a phase she was going through, you know how kids do, she probably would have come out of it in a year or so…”

“We kept a watch on it” Mr Ruth explained, “We let her dye her hair and wear that ridiculous make-up, but she wasn’t allowed to stay out past her curfew, we didn’t tolerate bad language, and we put a stop to all that witchcraft nonsense when we heard about it.”

“Witchcraft?” Were they truly back on the Witch track? Although if Mary had truly learned enough to become a full Witch at the age of fifteen that would be a very impressive feat indeed, and besides, a non-natural Witch would have sold her soul to a demon, meaning that a ghostly encounter would be impossible. But it was possible that could tie into her obsession with this ritualistic business.

“She… She had this boyfriend, we thought if we forbid her from seeing him it would only make her rebel harder, so we allowed them to meet, provided she was back before her curfew, and of course no sleepovers.” Mrs Ruth bit her lip, wringing her handkerchief in her hands.

“He was the one that got her into all this, got this book from a Yard Sale, said it had real magic. Well, when we caught her with rat bones in her room we…” Mr Ruth swallowed, “We told her she was forbidden from seeing him again. She was angry when she left the house that morning, and then…” The tough looking man began to tear up, moving his hand across to squeeze his wife’s tightly.

Perhaps this was Demon related? If the boyfriend was possessed he could have been pulling in victims this way, it wouldn’t be the first case like this Mick had heard of.

“What was the boyfriends name?”

“Jason White” Mr Ruth responded, his fist clenching slightly.

“Thank you, and, I’m very sorry to ask, our records are a little lacking, but where was your daughter buried?”

With all the information he needed, Mick left, heart feeling a lot heavier than it had done upon his arrival at the sweet semi-detached house. He knew what it was like to suffer after losing someone you loved, in fact he probably knew it better than most.

As he got back to the car, Mick braced himself against the wheel of the car. Upon checking his phone, he found there was still no reply from Arthur, so little comfort there. That was what Kendricks did to you though, it took children and turned them into Ketch. Mick knew that himself and Toni had been rare exceptions amongst the graduates, although sometimes Mick wondered if that had been worse than surrendering himself to the cold void that the other graduates had fallen into.

He knew that Toni felt it. She killed monsters without sympathy, but there had been cases that had disturbed her deeply. The worst incident Mick remembered was the Werewolf nest with the young Werewolf child, her orders were to kill, and she’d done so without hesitation, but Mick knew from that moment she arrived on his door in tears that she’d never forgive herself for what she’d done.

Then there was Mick, until this past year, he had killed once and only once.

There wasn’t a conscious moment when Timothy wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. He had killed his best friend, a frightened child who had only wanted to run, and the only way he’d ever been able to cope with that was to tell himself that Timothy was the only one, that he would never kill again.

He’d broken that promise to himself this year though, and it had proven to be his undoing where his relationship with the Men of Letters was concerned.

But Arthur, he was like so many others back in Britain, perhaps the most vicious and ruthless, but his kind was not uncommon, which was why it had been such a surprise to Mick that Arthur had fixed himself so firmly with himself and Toni.

‘Survivors’ that was what Arthur had called them once. He said they were different to the others because the three of them were ‘survivors’, whatever that meant.

Forcing himself to regain his composure and focus on the task at hand, Mick turned the key in the ignition and pulled slowly back onto the suburban road. He had clearance to go back to the School, hopefully Sam’s story had been convincing enough for them to allow him access to interview one of their students.

Whatever it was, it must have been good, because he was welcomed back by the headmaster with open arms and apologies. Mick opted to say as little as possible where this was concerned, but asked if it would be possible to talk with a student named Jason White.

He was given the principle’s office to conduct the interview, while one of the members of staff went to find Jason.

The boy who returned to the office was someone Mick could easily believe had been behind Mary’s transformation. He was tall, handsome for his age, dark haired, with a large number of piercings, and dark eyeliner.

Although Mick knew of this phase in theory, being at Kendricks through his teenage years had ensured that sort of thing had passed him by at the time.

The boy couldn’t have been older than seventeen, but Mick got the impression that he was older than Mary by perhaps a year or two.

Jason threw himself down in the seat opposite, eyeing Mick in aggressive protest.

Although this really did seem like a normal teenager to him, Mick knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Jason is it?” He smiled in a friendly way, “Sorry to take you out of class, what were you in the middle of? Latin?” Unlikely but it allowed Mick to slide in the words “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus?”

No response, other than a look of bewildered irritation.

“Fuck you” Jason spat, folding his arms, a smug glint in his eye, as if simply dropping a swear word had one him the fight.

Mick really didn’t want to have to deal with this today.

“Your girlfriend, Mary…”

“You mean Eris” Jason told him, a smirk plastered across his face, “My goddess of chaos.”

“Right, that was what you called her. Her parents said there was a book you got from a Yard Sale, one that did real magic?”

The smugness on the boy’s face increased, “What’s it to you?”

In this moment Mick wished he had Arthur’s sheer force of being to scare this little twat into giving an answer. He’d be able to do it without lifting a finger, Mick was sure of that.

“We simply are trying to determine a few facts about your ex-girlfriend’s death. The day she died, her parents found her with rat bones, was that one of your spells?”

“Perhaps” Jason smirked, “I have a lot of goddesses, I can’t remember which ones were told to do what.”

So that was this brat’s deal. A right little up and coming, cult leader with helpless girls willing to do whatever he wanted. He may not be a demon, but Mick was sure this tosser was heading straight for Hell.

It was becoming clear now that there was no real magic involved. The book Jason had bought was probably a commercial fake, with mixtures of various symbols and characters from writing systems most people had never heard of, the perfect con for people like this who wanted to be something better than they really were.

But that didn’t change the fact that a girl, who clearly had believed what this bastard had told her, had died, and was now haunting the school, continuing his work as she probably saw it.

“Right, you can go.” Mick rose to his feet, he didn’t want to look at the brat any longer. Hopefully, once Mary’s bones had been salted and burned this would all be over. No one else would have to die, but regardless, Mick felt sure Mary’s soul would be claimed by Hell the moment it was released, she’d done too much to taint it after her passing.

Sliding out of his chair like a maggot, Jason slumped back to the door, giving Mick another smug look before he finally left.

The number of words Mick wanted to use to curse that child – several of which he knew would result in actual curses, but he held back, choosing instead to check his phone once more.

 _“Where are you!?”_ He typed in a second message, as the first had still gone unresponded to.

Arthur could sulk all he wanted, he could throw a tantrum, sleep with friendly waitresses, whatever! As long as he was here to finish this job, this was more important than whatever it was they had going on between them.

Returning back to the motel Mick found no indication that Arthur had returned here either, and threw himself angrily down on the bed. He wouldn’t be able to salt and burn the bones until this evening, and then he’d have to go to the School to make sure that the ghost had passed, there was a simple spell that should tell him that, and he had the ingredients in the back of the car. The issue would of course be if Mary’s soul had not passed on. As much as he hated to admit it, Mick knew he wasn’t the best when it came to field work, he was pretty far from even being considered mediocre, but Arthur was the best, and it made sense to be going in with the best.

“Damn you” Mick muttered under his breath, hands tightening around the sheets as he allowed himself just for a moment to remember that sensation of Arthur’s lips against his neck, to feel the moan once more that had vibrated through his entire being. His body was already beginning to respond, much to Mick’s shame.

A cold shower, he needed a cold shower.

Undressing as carefully as he could, given the circumstances, Mick all but threw himself under the freezing cold spray of the shower, allowing the shock to cool his nerves.

Although he knew it would be better to forget, Mick wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to persuade his body that hadn’t happened. He could still feel the ghost of Arthur’s hand against his side, the other caressing his face with a gentleness Mick wouldn’t have imagined him capable of. It had been rough, it had been gentle, passionate but… Had there been something else as well?

The shower took a lot longer than Mick had intended it to, but when he finally came out, his head felt just about calm enough to return to the work at hand.

Still no text from Arthur, and outside the sky was beginning to grow dark.

His anger at the other man beginning to ebb, Mick realised that worry was starting to take its place. What if Arthur really had gone out there and done something stupid, should he contact Sam and get an APB out for him.

Mick shouldn’t have let him go last night. He should have done what they both wanted, and then Arthur would still be here and helping out.

Fastening up the buttons of a fresh shirt, Mick growled in frustration as he got to his feet and stormed from the motel room, across the road to the bar. Back to the bar where Arthur had told him he was heading the other night.

“Hey, we ain’t looking for no trouble,” the moment he entered the Barman put up his hands, eyes swimming over Mick’s face, one swollen blue eye hindering his sight ever so slightly. “You tell yer friend we’re cool okay?”

Mick blinked at them. “You mean Arthur? Was he here last night…? I mean did he come back after we left?”

The Barman shared a glance with another man, one who looked even more badly bruised and damaged than he did. Mick vaguely recognised him as well, one of the guys who had been with the other guy who had hit on him.

“Yeah, he came back” the guy growled, “Put my mate in the hospital, three broken ribs, snapped his arm, and a face so badly battered his own mum wouldn’t recognise him.” He was glaring daggers at Mick, but he looked nervous as well, recoiling a little as Mick took a step towards them.

Although Mick didn’t approve of any of this, it did sound like typical ‘Ketch’ behaviour.

“Where did he go from here? Did he leave with anyone?”

The Barman shook his head, “Beat the shit out of these guys, I tried to intervene, then called the cops. When he heard the sirens went out the back door, forest is back there, I guess he went to hide.”

Right. Desperate times.

Leaving the bar, Mick stormed back across the road. He’d tried being patient, and now it sounded like there was a real chance Arthur had gotten himself into some sort of trouble.

Stopping by the car, Mick rummaged in one of the back sections of the boot before withdrawing with a handful of lithomantic gems. If he kept this up much longer someone might as well call him a Witch, although really the spells he’d performed were fairly basic low-level things that anyone with an ounce of knowledge about spell work could perform.

Finding a map in the motel room he set the gems down upon it, focusing as hard as he could on Arthur, watching as the stones slowly began to move across the page, before centring in on a small patch of the forest, a good two miles from the bar.

Marking the location with an ‘x’, Mick climbed back into the car and pulled out of the motel carpark. Map spread out on the passenger seat as he concentrated hard on the road and his location.

The reason he let Arthur do most of the driving in America was because he just struggled with driving on the wrong-hand side of the road, and it was even worse in the dark, as he had to skid quickly to avoid colliding with several cars coming the other way.

With a small gasp of success, he managed to pull the car in somewhere relatively discrete, close to the patch where he’d marked Arthur’s location. Hopefully there would still be time to sort out the mission once he’d dragged the other Brit back to the car.

Pulling out a torch from the passenger compartment, Mick made his way cautiously into the forest, checking his path with the torch, giving the map the occasional check as he pushed on.

“Arthur” he called, “Look, I know you’re pissed at me, but we have a job to finish.”

He wasn’t sure if he was still anywhere near the spot Mick had located, but this was all he had to go on.

“Arthur! For Heaven’s sake where are you!?”

A rustle of trees, Mick spun around shining the torch directly into the face of a familiar and annoyed looking face.

“Point that somewhere else!”

Lowering the torch quickly, Mick squinted through the half-light, “Arthur?”

“Right. No. It’s Santa fucking Christmas” Arthur rolled his eyes sarcastically, but Mick detected a nervousness to him as well, “I would have come back earlier but my head hurt like a rhino had just kicked it in, and then I couldn’t figure out where I was, and,” he held up his phone to show Mick.

No signal.

Well at least he hadn’t been ignoring him.

“I’ve got the car” Mick told him, “I’ve also got the address of Mary Ruth’s body, let’s go.”

It seemed like the easiest thing to do. Just move on, get the job done.

When they got back to the road, Mick was happy to move around to offer Arthur the driving seat. Now in the light indoor light of the car, Mick could see what a real state Arthur was in. His face smeared with mud like he’d fallen, a scratch on his upper arm and cheek, potentially from the trees, and his suit was ruined.

Mick allowed the drive to go ahead in silence. They found the grave and began digging, Arthur moving at a considerably faster pace than him. It wasn’t until nearly three in the morning that they’d finished, which only left just enough time to get to the School and check their work was done before the first members of staff would begin arriving.

The roads were quiet now at least, but with all that energy exerted from the digging, Mick could feel exhaustion beginning to catch up with him. He must have slipped off at some point, as the next thing he knew, Arthur was nudging him awake and they were parked in a discrete corner of the School carpark.

“Hopefully this will be quick” Arthur mumbled, he looked barely conscious himself.

The two got out of the car together and made towards the school, careful to avoid any of the forward-facing security cameras as Arthur carefully picked the lock for the front door, allowing them safe passage inside.

The school halls were quiet and dark, quite different to what Mick had seen during the day.

“Do you remember when me, you and Toni snuck into one of the classrooms in Kendricks when we were fourteen?”

Arthur’s voice catching his attention, the slighter Brit turned, unable to stop the small nostalgic smile. The three of them had never gotten the chance to attend a High School like this, Mick had come the closest while attending a Primary School in central London, his school had been a rather rough place though, nothing like this.

But, somehow, Mick could still imagine the three of them running through these halls, a shadow of that one night when they’d been allowed to exist simply as children.

It had all been Toni’s idea, she’d just finished reading these romantic Enid Blyton books called ‘The Twins at St. Clare’s’, with stories of girls at a boarding school who raided the kitchens and got into mischief. Inspired by this she’d managed to talk Mick and Ketch into joining her on a midnight raid.

The three of them had almost been caught and had taken shelter in one of the classrooms. They’d spent the night giggling and laughing, and for just a moment Mick had felt like a normal child.

But then, the morning had come, and the strict regiment of the day snapped them back into place.

“It was a good night that” Mick agreed, “Toni fell asleep at four, and we just kind of talked…”

That was when Mick had told Arthur about Timothy, about what he’d done to keep his place at Kendricks. He wasn’t sure what had spurred him on to do so, perhaps he’d done so because Arthur was the only other child he knew that he got the impression had done something similar.

His intuition had been right. But it was so much worse than that.

Arthur told him, in confidence, that he’d been selected to undergo extreme training. As part of his training to prove his loyalty he’d killed three other competitors for the position, knowing that it was him or them.

He’d pulled back his sleeves to show Mick long gashes where his arm looked as if it had been torn open and stitched back together, explaining that they were tortured as a part of the training, to get them used to holding secrets even when a knife was tearing through their ligaments.

It was for his family, that was all Arthur had said. But he looked at Mick in a way that told him all he needed to know. Mick didn’t understand, he never could. He was a lucky child that happened to catch the eye of the Old Men, the others at Kendricks had been Legacies, the next in the line of a long line of Men of Letters. To fail at Kendricks would mean bringing shame upon their parents as well.

“We talked a lot that night” Arthur agreed, as the two of them climbed a set of stairs. “And that was when I realised,” his lip curled, eyes darting to the floor, and just for a moment, caught under the emergency lighting, Mick could have sworn that was a true and honest smile.

“Realised what?”

“That we were both survivors you and I. Kendricks put us through the worst they had to offer, and we came through it all, and even now we’re still alive.”

Mick dipped his head self-consciously, “You went through so much more than I did.” He wasn’t going to lie to himself about that. What they’d done to Arthur, it had broken him. While Mick knew that his friend was still in there, he couldn’t deny the fact that a lot of damage had been done since that night in the classroom when they were fourteen.

They’d reached the classroom, pushing open the door with cautious uncertainty. If the job was done then they could go back and rest, if not then… then they’d have to take care of it.

Mick had come far more prepared this time, removing a small bowl from his bag, along with the ingredients required for the Ghost Detection Spell.

All seemed quiet so far.

“Last night,” Mick wasn’t sure why he was bringing this up now, but he somehow felt if they didn’t talk about it now, then they never would. He saw Arthur tense slightly out of the corner of his eye, as he mixed in the ingredients with a pestle, that meant he hadn’t forgotten it, at least not all of it. “You went back to the bar and put a man in hospital.”

“That wasn’t the plan” Arthur muttered, drawing a spare iron crowbar out from his own bag, “I… I don’t know what I was going back for, but that…” his face contorted slightly in anger, before he forced clarity back into his mind, “That, charming gentleman you met earlier just said…” He shook his head firmly, “I won’t repeat it, you don’t deserve that, but I wasn’t going to allow him to talk about a fellow comrade in that way.”

So, there was a little more to the story. Mick was still left in the dark about what had been said, but if it was enough to make Arthur that angry then it must have been bad.

“And…” Mick barely knew if it was right for him to say anything further, but he was finding it difficult to stop, “…What happened before?”

Arthur turned away from him, swinging the iron crowbar through the air. “I’ve done a lot of terrible things Mick, things I can live with, but that is something I’ll never forgive myself for… If you never forgive me for it then I’ll understand.” His voice was straining, and Mick could see this was taking a large amount of restraint and self-control for him to speak of so calmly.

“But…” Mick shook his head, the mixture on the desk was finished, but it lay quite forgotten, “I… I was taking advantage of you… at least… you… you were worried I was going to leave?” It felt almost foolish to say that aloud, but as Arthur was making such an effort, Mick felt he’d be letting himself down if he didn’t return the favour.

Arthur turned, dark eyes wide with utter bewilderment. “Let me get this straight. I lifted you, by your collar, and shoved you against a wall, and you think I was the one being taken advantage of,” he shook his head, and then did something Mick hadn’t seen him do in a long time. He laughed.

The sound almost made Mick feel giddy, and he knew a part of his head was still hesitant in case this was another of Arthur’s plays, before his emotions ran cold once more. But the laugh seemed honest, and it seemed open, he was genuinely amused by the idea.

Mick swallowed, but forced himself to stand still as Arthur approached him slowly, his laughter had died down, and his expression was now cooler, the intense and burning look that Mick had found would never fail to have that effect on his heart. A tentative hand reached out to touch the side of Mick’s face, as if it were testing the waters.

“I was… I am afraid that you’ll leave me. Realise what a monster I am like everyone else does. You’ll find yourself lost in those dark bunker halls with Sam Winchester, or be charmed away by a stranger in a bar, or even just decide you’ve had enough of me.”

Sam Winchester?

Suddenly all those scowling looks and angry bursts whenever he’d mentioned Sam’s name or answered a call made sense. But the idea, it was so funny that Mick could almost have laughed aloud himself.

“It’s like you said”, and Mick could feel himself bending into the touch, allowing Arthur to angle his head, moving closer until Mick felt his own eyes flutter closed. He could feel Arthur’s warm breath mingling with his own, their lips must be millimetres from one another. “We’re survivors, always have been, and a monster can’t be a monster to its own kind.”

Their lips touched, but only momentarily as the mortal and pestle between them was thrown from the desk, smashing violently through the desk adjacent to them.

Arthur sprang back, crowbar raised, one arm held out to keep Mick behind him.

“Seems there’s something else tethering our ghostly friend to this earth” The crowbar wielding man commented, eyes scanning the room for a presence.

“I am not a ghost!” Mary Ruth suddenly swung towards them, Arthur made a swing, missed, but it was enough to cause her to divert her path. “I am a goddess, an immortal goddess!”

“No Mary, you’re not” Mick spoke up now, his stomach churning as he remembered that awful boy. “Jason lied to you, he got you to believe something that wasn’t true. You’re dead Mary, we’re just trying to help you move on.”

For a moment the girl seemed to stop, her eyes flicking between the two of them. “Your… Your lying. If he didn’t believe I was immortal, then he never would have…”

Mick felt his eyes widen as something clicked into place, “Never would have what Mary?”

But the girl’s face contorted into anger once more, “You’re lying!” She screamed, the force sending both men flying backwards, although Arthur managed to keep a firm hold on the crowbar, which looked to be their last line of defence.

“It must be in this room” Mick heard himself muttered, eyes scanning towards the desk, what if something had been left in there?

Arthur caught his train of vision and nodded.

“Sorry, but it sounds like you’ve really been lied to” Arthur spoke up, clambering back to his feet to draw the ghost’s attention. “Your making it sound a lot like this Jason had a hand in your death? What did he do? Push you in front of that lorry?”

“No… Yes… He, he said it was the only way I could escape my parents, but that it would be okay, because I would live forever…”

“You’re dead Mary, and you killed an innocent man. There is no ritual, you aren’t a goddess, just a plain run of the mill ghost.”

Mick had reached the desk, opening it as quietly as he could, rummaging through the contents. Buried under the books and pens there was something stuffed into the back, small enough for the new occupant not to have noticed. A heart shaped locket. Mick was willing to bet there was a photo of her and this Jason inside there. However, the salt and oil were still in his bag, and there was no way he’d get there unnoticed. But Arthur was closer.

Placing the locket down on the ground carefully, Mick called out, at exactly the same moment he kicked the locket towards Arthur, hoping that she wouldn’t notice.

“Mary, you just need to accept your dead and we can help you. I’m sorry for all this, I really am, that boy, he didn’t deserve you, he used you and threw you away. Trust me, there is a very special place in Hell for people like him.”

“And me?” Mary’s voice sounded smaller now, much more reminiscent of that little girl in the photo he’d seen with the long golden hair, “What about me?”

“I… I don’t know” Mick lied, “We don’t judge souls.”

Mary clenched her fist, and as she did so Mick felt his insides being crushed once more.

“No, you’re lying! You’re lying about all of it!” She advanced, her grip growing tighter and tighter until Mick felt himself gasping for air. He just had to hold out a little while more.

Then the grip slackened, Mary turned, just in time to see Arthur setting the locket aflame.

She screamed, and it was the scream of a lost and confused child, as her form burned and splintered, until only the thin air around her remained.

Arthur hurried forward, bag already slung over his shoulder as he hoisted Mick up carefully. “Lean on me, we have to leave.”

It was getting light outside, Arthur was right. This classroom was a mess, and even Sam with his amazing powers of persuasion would probably struggle to explain this one away if they were caught.

They must have made it in good time though, because Mick felt himself being unloaded into the passenger seat, and then the sound of doors closing as Arthur took up the driver’s seat and set the car into reverse.

The job was over.

“Are you okay? The damn match wouldn’t light, how Sam and Dean manage to do that on the first attempt is a greater witchcraft than the kind I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m fine,” Mick touched his throat gingerly, everything felt a little tender, but Arthur had burned her away in enough time.

But. He still couldn’t help but feel bitter about the whole case.

“We exorcised the ghost of a poor girl who had been led astray by a psychopath, and yet we can’t touch him…” He gritted his teeth, “What sort of a job is this?”

“Our job” Arthur reminded him, “If that boy escalates to real witchcraft we kill him, he signs a contract with a demon they’ll kill him, or he’ll just kill another innocent and the police will have him.”

He could feel Arthur’s eyes still lingering on him, only half fixed on the empty road ahead.

“You aren’t afraid I’m like that?”

The question took Mick by surprise, and he sat up a little straighter.

“You called yourself a monster, but we both know you aren’t me. I’ve used women and men before you, I’ve used them up and thrown them away, you know I have.”

This wasn’t a lie.

“Is that what you’re planning to do with me?” And Mick found himself looking once more into the eyes of Mr. Ketch, searching and looking for the small signs of sincerity he knew occasionally made an appearance in there.

He could see the lust and conflict, all muddled together, beneath that cold mask. It was like looking through a pool of frozen ice, above the pool seemed solid and cold, but beneath the water raged and fought back against its restraints, and if the ice cracked it was almost inevitable that you would fall.

“No” his answer was short and swift, “I never planned to do anything like that with you.”

“When did this planning start?” Mick couldn’t help but find himself curious.

“That night when we were fourteen in the school. I’d never… I’d never felt like I’d met someone like me before… but at the same time you weren’t like me. I thought I needed to protect you, just like I needed to protect Toni, you were both so different to the rest of us. I admired you, you kept who you were even when the Old Men tried to drag you to your lowest. You were so much stronger than I was. That night in the classroom, I wanted to kiss you, but I was afraid if I did that you’d shatter, that I’d somehow corrupt you.”

Something deep resounded in Mick’s heart and stomach, a knowledge that no one else had ever truly seen the man he’d been able to see. Arthur was a liar, a killer and perhaps at times Toni wasn’t wrong, he did appear to be nothing more than an animal driven by instinct and orders. But, Mick had known it all, what Arthur had been through at Kendricks, the pain and conflict, and the honesty that lay beneath it all.”

The sound of the indicator informed Mick that they’d just turned into the motel’s carpark.

He didn’t want to break the eye contact they held, but Mick knew that they couldn’t just sit in the car like this either.

Arthur had a small drying cut on his forehead, he must have hit it when Mary had thrown them across the classroom. He wasn’t sure why he was only just noticing that now.

The other man cleared his throat, pulling Mick from his thoughts as the door on his side opened, and his climbed out. Following by his example, Mick also exited the car, arms wrapping around his body to keep warm, suit ruffled from the day’s work, and his hair, which had never quite obeyed itself in the same way Arthur’s had, was standing on end.

Without a word they made their way across the carpark to the number twelve door.

It opened, and they made their way inside, the early morning light already beginning to shine in through the open curtains.

Mick opened his mouth, about to say something to break the silence between them, when Arthur suddenly lunged, pulling Mick towards him as he forced their lips together, teeth crashing together with a force that was almost painful. It wasn’t a move Mick had been expecting, but he allowed himself to melt into it all the same, his own hand finally responding as it rested against Arthur’s cheek, the other hand gripping at his shirt for balance, as he felt Arthur single handily disposing of both of their jackets, backing Mick against the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be the table by the door.

Only when they needed to take a break to regain their energy did Arthur speak again.

“Is this okay?” His eyes were earnest and tentative, lips as red and swollen as Mick’s felt.

“Stop asking if it’s bloody okay, and get on with it,” He was not going to let this go on all night, and to make his point he tugged at Arthur’s tie, perhaps with a little more force than necessary.

He saw a smile, and those eyes swelled once more with the swirling emotions of lust and something Mick feared was far more dangerous to them both, but he pushed that away for now, focusing instead on the powerful grip of Arthur’s hands as they practically lifted him off the ground, redirecting him this time towards the nearest bed.


End file.
